


Reunited

by pretzelstoday



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bill Cipher Being Bill Cipher, Bill Cipher Possessing Ford Pines, Demonic Possession, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, I refuse to do any research on the 80s or on the geography of the united states, Light Angst, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Mystery Trio, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, mild horror elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:46:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29839653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretzelstoday/pseuds/pretzelstoday
Summary: Ford receives a postcard from Stan for the first time in a few years, and his assistant and friend, Fiddleford, convinces him to give him a call.Stan makes the drive up to Gravity Falls, Oregon, to see his brother for the first time in eight years. Ford offers him a place to stay, and Stan accepts. Winter is almost here, and staying out in the middle of nowhere with two nerds is better than sleeping in his car. Barely.There's also the matter of the portal under the house, and Ford is acting strange.
Relationships: Bill Cipher & Ford Pines, Bill Cipher & Stan Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket & Ford Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket & Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket & Stan Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Comments: 12
Kudos: 42





	1. The Postcard

**Author's Note:**

> Lol I'm bad at titles. And summaries. 
> 
> Ford gets Stan's postcard in this chapter, and McGucket convinces him to call. This marks the beginning of their awkward phone correspondence. If you liked it, or have any thoughts on what I could do better, please feel free to comment! Chapter 2 will be out by the end of the week. Hope you enjoy!!

"Stanford Pines, when was the last time you checked your mailbox?"

Ford looked up from his journal with a start.

"Fiddleford! When did you get here?"

"Just a minute ago." He smacked the mail down on the table in front of Ford with a papery thwack. "Mailman gave me an awful dirty look as I was comin' in, so I took it upon myself to collect 'em up for you."

"I could've sworn I went out and checked it the other day," Ford replied absently, sifting through the pile of envelopes. McGucket rolled his eyes pointedly. Ford pretended not to notice.

"There's coffee on if you'd like- oh! That's odd..."

"What is?"

"I've got a postcard..."

Fiddleford took a sip of his coffee and watched Ford turn the card over in his hands, staring at it like it was some kind of freak occurrence. Except, he noted, that Ford usually seemed more excited by freak occurrences. He poked his head over Ford's shoulder, looking interested. There wasn’t much information on the postcard, just a name, address, and a phone number written in an untidy scrawl.

  


"Stan Pines- that some relation of yours?"

Ford laughed bitterly.

"You could say that. He's my brother. Stanley Pines."

"Sure sounds a lot like Stanford. You never told me you had a brother.”

"Twin, actually. He used to send me these more often- to let me know where he was. He works in sales. I didn’t think I’d hear from him again.”

Fiddleford choked a little on his coffee.

"Stanford, I've known you for all this time, and you ain't never mentioned a twin." He said dryly.

Ford placed the postcard down on the table and stood to pour himself a fresh cup of coffee.

"I finalized the design for the portal," He said. “I’m nearly positive it’ll work, but I’d still appreciate you giving it a look over.”

Fiddleford laughed. “’Course I will. But don’t think you’re gettin’ off that easy.” He took a seat at the table.

“Tell me about this brother of yours. Y’all must’ve had one hell of a falling-out if you’ve never mentioned him.”

Ford nodded.

“I haven’t seen him in nearly- God, I guess it’s been...what, eight years?” He picked up the postcard again, studying it. “We would have still been in high school. He was my best friend...well, my only friend really. Our dad used to make us take boxing… I never liked it much, but Stan took a real shine to it. He was always getting in fights for me; not that he’d ever admit it. I had to patch him up a lot, he got beaten up pretty badly a couple of times- broken noses, things like that. Whenever I would tell him to be more careful he would just laugh and say I should see the other guy. We used to do everything together. I guess he really cared about me.”

“Sure sounds like it. You oughta give him a call.”

“He ruined my life, Fiddleford.”

Fiddleford gave him a look and took another sip of his coffee.

“What, at the age of seventeen?”

“He sabotaged my future- I had a chance to get into West Coast Tech, but he ruined it because he wasn’t ready to let me leave. Of all the juvenile-” Ford started angrily.

“Things came out fine in the end though, didn’t they?” Fiddleford interrupted. “You wouldn’t never have met me if you’d got into that fancy school, and we wouldn’t be here now. I’m sure he’d apologize if you’d just give him the time of day.”

Ford sighed.

“Well, you’re right about one thing. I wouldn’t have met you.” He smiled at his assistant, and Fiddleford smiled back.

“If you want my advice-”

“I don’t.” Ford said.

Fiddleford cheerfully ignored him.

“If he’s half as stubborn as you, he probably just don’t want to call you first.” He picked up Ford’s journal off the table and walked over to the elevator. “I’m goin’ down t’ the basement to check your math. Don’t you come down here until you call him, Stanford.”

“He ruined my life.”

“Good Lord, that was almost ten years ago. At least give him the chance to apologize to ya. I don’t think that’s askin’ much.”

  


Ford stood by the phone in the kitchen, listening to the other end ring. _(_ _Maybe he’s not at home_ _._ _I should call him back later, in a week perhaps._ _)_ He swallowed the lump in his throat. _(_ _I don’t know why I’m so nervous, for Stanley of all people. I’ll tell Fiddleford I called and we caught up for awhile, it’s not like he would ever-_ _)_

The line stopped ringing.

“Hello?” There was a gravelly voice, faintly New Jerseyish.

“Stanley Pines?”

“Who’s asking, pal?”

“Um. This is Stanford Pines. I’m sorry, I’m afraid I may have the wrong…”

There was a long silence. Ford contemplated hanging up.

“Jeez, Poindexter? What the hell are you doing, calling me?”

“Stan?”

“Yeah, who else would it be? Sweet Moses, it’s been a long time.”

“I suppose it has. I got your postcard.”

“Yeah, well. I just got back in the country, I figured I’d drop you a line.”

“Thanks. I um, I was wondering why I hadn’t heard from you in awhile.”

“Says you.” Stan replied flatly. Ford’s hand clenched around the phone.

“Yes, well-”

“Nevermind.” Stan interrupted. “Just surprised, is all. What have you been up to?”

“I got a research grant and moved up to Oregon. I don’t want to say too much, but I expect to make a big breakthrough in my work quite soon.” Ford said, not without a hint of pride.

“That’s great. You and the other nerds having a good time up there?”

“It’s out in the middle of the woods, actually. I have an assistant working with me though. Fiddleford McGucket. We went to college together.”

Stan whistled appreciatively.

“That’s one hell of a name.”

“Tell me about it,” Ford laughed. “How about you? What have you been up to?”

“You know,” Stan said vaguely. “Traveling here and there. Just great.”

“Oh,” said Ford. “Well, where are you now?”

“New Mexico. I bet you’d like it; there’s lots of lizards and scorpions and freaky stuff like that. The stars are nice and clear out in the desert too- it’s really something.”

“I bet it is. Where-”

“Shit,” Stan hissed quietly. There was faint noise in the background of the call, but Ford couldn’t make it out. “Look, I gotta go.”

“All right,” Ford said, taken aback. “Can I call you again?”

“I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna be in town. Gotta keep moving, you know? People get tired of the same pitch after awhile.”

“Okay, well can I give you my number?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan said distractedly.

“It’s um. It’s 541-763-0627.”

“Got it, thanks.”

“When can I expect-” The line went dead. Ford stared at the phone in his hand for some time before placing it gently back on the wall.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and went down to the basement.

  



	2. Gravity Falls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens in this chapter, but we get some stuff from Stan's POV, so get excited for that.  
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Ford got another call a little over a week later, thus marking the beginning of his tense phone correspondence with his brother. There wasn’t much in common for them to talk about, and there was even more to avoid. Any reference to their shared past was likely to start a fight- he was surprised to hear that Stan was still in contact with their mother and Shermie, and felt a guilt stab at “Jeez, Sixer, would it kill you to call her more?” and it was left at that.

Ford found himself prattling on about some of his tamer discoveries in an attempt to fill the silence. Stan seemed interested, if skeptical.

Fiddleford eagerly pressed him for information about Stanley from time to time; but he found he didn’t have much to tell. Stan rarely gave up any information about his doings beyond vaguely mentioning “sales”, and would usually change the subject before Ford could insist on any details.

This went on for some months, and Ford found himself looking forward to the more or less regular

phone calls.

McGucket was hunched on the rough scaffolding surrounding the portal’s frame, swearing under his breath and fiddling with a particularly stubborn piece of wiring that was supposed to be providing power to part of the structure. Ford watched him sit up and remove his glasses, wiping his face with a grease-blackened handkerchief, before replacing them and leaning back into a more comfortable seated position.

“You gonna talk to your brother again pretty soon, Ford?” He asked idly.

“Why are you so interested in my brother?” Ford snapped, eyes going back to his work.

“Havin’ a long-lost twin is a point of interest! Besides, Emma-May keeps askin’ after him.”

“You told your wife about Stanley?!”

“She’s my wife, Stanford. And she don’t have much to keep her mind occupied these days, what with Tate and all.”

Ford rolled his eyes.

“You’re just being nosy and you know it. I actually haven’t heard from him in nearly a month. It’s strange, he’s doesn’t usually…” Ford trailed off, looking put out.

“Just call him then, if it’s bothering ya.”

“I can’t.”

Fiddleford sighed exasperatedly.

“No, really. He moves around so much, I don’t know where he’s going to be or who to ask. Half the time he tells me he has to hang up because someone else is waiting to use the phone booth.”

“What is it he does, exactly?”

“He’s in sales.”

“What kind of sales?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

“That’s mighty strange if you ask me. You sure he ain’t hidin’ something?”

“I don’t know.”

Ford was suddenly very concerned with a smudge on the lens of his glasses, and had to spend a long moment wiping it off on his shirt.

“We should get back to work.” He said finally.

“’Fraid we can’t,” Fiddleford replied, ignoring the ladder and electing to climb down the side of the scaffolding. “We need parts again.”

Ford huffed impatiently.

“Again?”

“Don’t you pitch a fit at me, Stanford. It’s your design.”

“I know. I’m just eager to get through these preliminary stages and run some tests.”

“Don’t I know it. I’m real interested to see if we can pull this off, and I think there’s a good chance we can. But it ain’t gonna happen in a day.” He checked his watch. “Or today, for that matter. It’s gettin’ late, and I ought to go home. We can head out early for parts tomorrow.”

“All right. Safe travels, and all that.”

“Sure thing. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

Stan passed the Nevada state line, and breathed a little easier.

He had spent the past eight hours driving as fast as he could be reasonably sure he could get away with, and the adrenaline was starting to wear thin, giving way to exhaustion.

There was a rest stop coming up, and he pulled over into the parking lot and killed the ignition.

He rubbed his eyes and cursed the early hour- he didn’t like his odds for sleeping in the car in broad daylight without some idiot rubberneck calling the cops.

The rest stop’s proprietor looked up from his magazine and eyed him as he came in. Stan looked back cautiously; there was a sawed-off shotgun resting against the side of the counter. He decided he wouldn’t be trying to pay with a traveler’s check after all, and bought a cup of burnt-tasting coffee and five gallons of gas.

“Anything else?”

“A pack of American Spirits and a quarter for the phone, if you got one.”

He forked over the cash. The man handed him a couple of quarters and gestured to the pay phone outside with a grunt.

“Stanford Pines speaking.”

Stan had smoked two cigarettes and drank most of his forty-cent coffee by this time, and was starting to feel a little more like a human being again.

“Hey, Sixer.” He said. Casual.

“Stanley?”

“The one and only. How ya doing?”

“Fine, fine... I haven’t heard from you in quite a while.”

“Yeah, I was a little tied up-” _(In the trunk of some small-time drug lord’s car, and I am incredibly surprised to be alive right now, and even more surprised that_ _my first instinct was to call you, of all people)_ “But hey, nothin’ I can’t handle,” He laughed. It felt forced.

There was a long pause.

“I’m getting the sense you’re not telling me something, Stan.”

Stan flinched. That was Ford for “you lying bastard”. 

“I may have run into some trouble with a couple of guys a few states back, but like I said, nothing I can’t handle.”

There was a long-suffering sigh on the other end.

“Where are you now?”

“Nevada. I’m a couple miles from Vegas.”

“You know…” Ford began carefully, “You’re not too far from Gravity Falls. Maybe you could make some sales up here.” 

“Worried about me, huh? You sound like Ma.” Stan joked. 

There was quiet on the other end.  Stan didn’t like it . 

“Please?”

Stan didn’t like it one bit.

“Relax, you big nerd. I’ll be up in a couple days.” 

“Okay. You may run into some problems finding it on a map, I can give you some assistance, if you’d like.”

“Look, I’ll drive up to Portland, and if I hit any snags I’ll give you a call. Sound good?”

“Sounds fine. Listen, I have to get back to work. Speak soon?”

“Yeah, sure. See ya later, Poindexter. _”_


	3. Reunited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stan drives to gravity falls and reunites with Ford. Things are tense, but they're getting along.  
> For like an hour.  
> I'm not thrilled with the end of this chapter, but things start to get a little spicy pretty soon. (I'm also starting to think this going to run longer than I initially planned, but I'm going with it). To anyone who commented: you light up my life. An important note: I included Dan in this chapter and then realized that he would be a child at the time this takes place. So- it's the father of the Dan Corduroy we see in the show, who has the exact same name as him. Sorry about that.   
> Thanks again for reading and I hope you enjoy!

It turned out Gravity Falls wasn’t just hard to find on a map- it was impossible. Or it wasn’t on any maps Stan could get his hands on, anyway. _(Just figures that Ford would decide to live out in the most backwoods, nowhere town in all of America. What the hell is the matter with that guy?)_

He was running low on gas, and funds, and will to sleep in his car in this miserable cold rain, and so he pulled over at a run down looking bar to try his luck at cards.

He was doing reasonably well ~~cheating~~ at poker when a huge man with a shock of red hair lumbered over and asked to join the table. Stan blanched a little at the thought of fleecing this guy- if things went south he could usually handle himself, but this guy could probably kill him with his bare fists, never mind the well-used looking ax at his belt. Stan figured by his appearance he was either a lumberjack working at one of the nearby logging camps, or a well-respected murderer.

He dealt him in anyway.

The lumberjack (as it turned out) was named Dan Corduroy, and fortunately for Stan he wasn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. He lost a few hands pretty graciously, and Stan was demurely attributing his card counting to good luck and preparing to leave with his winnings when Dan clapped him on the back, nearly knocking him over, and asked him to join him for a beer.

Stan warily accepted, and bought him the first couple drinks.

Any suspicion he had about being taken outside and beaten into the ground were quickly nullified. Dan seemed to have taken a liking to him, and went on at great length about how much he missed his wife back home in Gravity Falls. Stan, who had been half-listening, perked up at that.

“Hang on- Gravity Falls?”

“Sure. What about it?”

“My brother lives up there, I’ve been driving myself half crazy trying to find the place on a map. You don’t suppose you could give me some directions?”

Dan gave him directions, which involved several turns down unpaved logging roads, and Stan questioned again why he had agreed to come here in the first place as he scrawled them down on a cocktail napkin.

“What’s your brother’s name?” Dan asked. “It’s not exactly a big place. I know most of the folks who live there.”

“Ford Pines.”

“Hmm…” Dan’s face contorted with thought. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Unless he’s that shut-in scientist who lives out in the woods… Real curiosity, that guy. Comes into town about once a month for supplies and hardly says a word to anybody.”

Stan sighed.

“Sounds like Ford, all right.”

“What’s he working on, anyway?”

“Beats me. Last we talked he was pulling my chain about spookums and scareums out in those woods of yours.” Stan said good-humoredly enough, and was surprised to see Dan pale.

“I should get back to camp. You tell that brother of yours there’s things in that forest that are better left alone.”

With that, he stood and left.

Stan didn’t take much of Dan’s superstition to heart _(God knows I get enough of that crap from Ma,)_ , and drove into Gravity Falls the following day. It was still raining, and the clouds cast gloomy shadows over the town. He drove aimlessly through the narrow streets, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel nervously. He had changed into a mostly unwrinkled set of dress clothes he kept around to look nice for the occasional client, and had managed to scrape away most of the stubble with a dull razor in the car’s rear view mirror that morning. There was still the matter of his hair, but it would have to do.

Finding Ford’s house proved easier than expected. It was just under a mile north of the town itself, and there were lots of charming signs along the road that said things like “NO TRESPASSING” for him to follow.

He parked the car and steeled himself.

The house itself was sturdily built out of logs and unfinished wood, and it loomed imposingly outside his car. There was a light on in the triangular upstairs window despite the early hour, and Stan made his way up the steps and knocked on the door.

He stood waiting on the porch, listening to the rain hit the pine-needled ground behind him. Briefly, the thought of just getting in his car and driving away like nothing had ever happened.

The lights came on in the front room, and the door opened.

Ford looked just like Stan remembered. He a few inches taller, and not as scrawny as he had been at seventeen. He looked older and more careworn as well, and the dark circles under his eyes had deepened.

But it was without a doubt the same Ford who had helped him with his calculus homework, and set his broken noses while quietly scolding him in the bathroom of their small apartment in the middle of the night, and who went treasure hunting on the beach with him almost every day, even when they got to the age where they were really too old for that sort of thing. The same Ford who closed the curtain on him and wouldn’t look him in the eye on the night their father threw him out of the house.

They stood staring at each other for what felt like a very long time.

Ford ran a hand through his wiry curls and cracked a smile.

“Stanley,” he said stiffly. “Where are my manners. Please, come in.”

He suddenly felt conscious of all the half-finished experiments and preserved specimens and boxes upon boxes of disorganized paperwork that had somehow spilled up out of the basement lab and were littered around the living room and kitchen. Stan didn’t comment, but looked around curiously as he took off his shoes.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“That’d be just great. Where’d you get this thing?” He asked, gesturing at a stuffed six-legged rabbit. “It looks so real.”

“It is real. Do you want cream or sugar?”

“Both, if you got ‘em. And like hell it is.”

“It’s the first rabbit I ever taxidermied. I’m quite fond of it.” Ford insisted.

“Huh. You sure know how to pick ‘em, I guess.”

Ford handed him the coffee. Stan took a sip of it, and grimaced.

“Oy, this is strong.”

“I can brew you a weaker cup, if you’d like-”

“Quit fussing, Sixer. It’s fine.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McGucket POV that no one asked for (I'm having a lot of fun writing him, even though it's a bit of a challenge since he doesn't have much canon personality before he goes crazy). And some drama starts to unfold. 
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy.

Fiddleford had been expecting Stan to come pay them a visit.

Ford had been pacing around like a cat on a hot tin roof all week, telling him what a swell guy Stan was one minute and bitterly damning him the next. Even so, there was no indication of him calling off work; estranged twin brother or not, and so he was sure he would get to meet Stan at some point.

He was looking forward to it, even.

What Fiddleford wasn’t expecting was to walk up to the house that morning and hear shouting- loud enough to be heard a good few feet away from the door.

He scratched his head and placed a large wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth.

It was going to be a long morning.

He climbed the porch steps, leaning against the railing and savoring the taste of the chew in his mouth. He didn’t want to interrupt...whatever it was they were yelling about, but they didn’t sound likely to stop anytime soon and Ford would probably get cross with him if he was late to work. He glanced at his watch.

Nearly ten in the morning.

Ford let him come in later on Sundays on account of church, despite having no respect for Fiddleford’s religion and even less for the concept of a day of rest. There was still some time to kill. He spat.

The shouting was closer to the door now, and he could make it out quite clearly.

“You lied to me!” That was Ford’s voice.

“Withholding information isn’t lying, especially not to someone who hasn’t given a shit if you were alive for the past eight years! What did you want me to open with? ‘Hi Ford, I’m a massive screw up’?” That was Stanley, he assumed. His voice was remarkably like Ford’s, but it sounded raspier, and he hadn’t scrubbed away the last remains of that New Jersey accent Ford had been so self conscious about in college.

“You almost got yourself killed! What were you doing with people like that?”

“People like what? Criminals? Newsflash, idiot-”

“Murderers, Stanley! I don’t know what you were thinking...” Fiddleford could practically see Ford pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I already told you, Rico was my friend and I didn’t have a choice. Things went bad and I had to cut my losses-”

“Cut your losses? You got tied up and thrown in the trunk of a car! Last I checked, ‘I’m fine’ doesn’t mean running from people who are out to kill you!”

“Well, what did you want me to tell you?”

“The truth, maybe? Is that really so hard for you to grasp?”

Fiddleford didn’t exactly feel guilty for eavesdropping- they were shouting loud enough to wake the dead, but he had certainly heard more than he cared to. He would quietly see himself down to the basement and get some work done. Ford could join him whenever he was done screaming at his criminal brother. He opened the door.

The shouting stopped abruptly.

“Fiddleford? You’re early,” Ford looked sheepish.

“It’s quarter after ten. I’ll see myself downstairs.”

Ford looked at his watch, and then back at Fiddleford. Stan was standing a little to his left, looking at the rug.

“So it is. Excuse me. Stanley, this is Fiddleford McGucket, my assistant.” He stalked off, out of the room and up the stairs.

Stan shot Ford’s retreating back a dirty look. Fiddleford agreed with the sentiment.

“Stan Pines. Pleased to meet you.” He said awkwardly, extending his hand.

Fiddleford shook it.

“Likewise. Ford’s told me all about ya.”

“Oh, boy.”

“It ain’t all bad.” He said, although about half of it was. “Gosh, you look just like him.”

And he did. Stanley had broader shoulders and was more sturdily built, albeit a little softer around the middle. Minus the glasses and two extra fingers, Stan looked like if Ford had given up his life of scientific research and instead become a used car salesman who had fallen upon hard times.

“Yeah. You know, twins.”

“Right.” _(Well, I ain’t likely to get any work done now, since Ford’s gone and made me the babysitter,)_ “You had any breakfast, Stan? I’m sure we’ve got some food around here somewhere.”

Stan sat at the kitchen table, watching Fiddleford ransack the kitchen- it was cluttered, there were jars of mysterious preserves and dangerous-looking chemicals and what appeared to be a half-finished robot; but apparently not much food.

He ran his fingers over the grain of the table, still stewing at Ford. He had been angry, and still was, but mostly he just felt embarrassed. Although the hope had dwindled over the past eight years, he had still been vaguely clinging to the idea that maybe the next time he saw Ford, he would have made something of himself. (In this scenario, Ford would be so impressed with his efforts to redeem himself and be a part of the family again that he would have no choice but to forgive him. He would clap him on the back proudly, and their father would have a heart attack and die from the shock of it all, but no one would mind because they were so happy to have Stan back. He would accept the praise modestly and say “You’re not doing so bad yourself, Sixer,”, and then just maybe Ford would realize that his brother was more important than any fancy science experiment, and they would get on the Stan o’ War and sail across the ocean and have adventures together until they died happily in their old age.)

Stan was well aware how ridiculous this particular fantasy was, and barely allowed himself to consciously acknowledge it. It had often crept up as he was falling asleep on the uncomfortable folded-back seat of his car; and that bright, shining hope had gotten him through years of rough living.

Now it was gone.

Ford knew he was a failure, and a no-good con artist at that.

It made him feel as small and helpless as he had at seventeen; with no friends, no money, and no hope of ever returning home. This was not a feeling Stan Pines liked one bit.

His ears burnt with shame. He felt like getting back in his car and driving into the ocean.

“Here. Quit mopin’ and eat it before it gets cold.”

Fiddleford placed a plate of rubbery scrambled eggs and a slice of fried bread in front of Stan. He sat down across the table from him with his own plate.

“Thanks,” Stan said. “And I was not moping,”

“I know moping when I see it. Your brother makes the same face when he’s all bent out of shape about somethin’.”

Stan took a bite of his eggs. They weren’t half bad.

“So, how much of that did you overhear?”

“Come again?”

“You know, that big fight me and Ford were having just now? The one you walked in on?”

Fiddleford tugged at his collar.

“Aw, I wasn’t gonna say nothin’ about that. It’s not polite.”

“Look, I appreciate that, but I’d really prefer if you’d level with me.”

“Fine. You’re runnin’ from the law and there’s some people fixin’ to kill ya. Ford’s mad at you for lyin’ about it. Ain’t none of my business, but there you go.”

“Huh. I mean yeah, that’s pretty much it. You got good ears.”

“Thanks,” Fiddleford said sourly, although he was a little surprised Stan wasn’t trying at all to defend himself. “So, what now?”

“I gotta drum up the funds first, but I think I can be out of here by this time tomorrow. I was thinking I might go up to Canada and lie low there for awhile.” Stan mused. “On the other hand, winter’s coming and it’s probably cold as hell. Maybe I should head south again…”

“You’re tellin’ me illegally crossing the border is easier than talkin’ to your brother?”

“Well, not- it’s more of a legal gray area,” Stan said reassuringly.

“Who on earth told you that? That’s not-”

“Anyway, I don’t know how much good it’s gonna do. Ford’s not exactly an easy guy to talk to.”

“Well, you have to consider…”

Stan gave him a look.

“Fine, he’s stubborn as hell at the best of times, and I ain’t ever seen him this mad. But you have to admit, it is a lot for him to take in.”

“Okay, sure. But even once he calms down, I don’t think he’ll exactly be thrilled to have me here.”

“Sure, I bet he’ll be a real pain in the ass, and that’s why I’m tellin’ you not to leave. He’ll be slammin’ cupboards and tellin’ me how he ain’t upset on account of “it’s not logical” for the next three weeks. He’s my friend and all, but he don’t pay me enough for that.”

Stan laughed.

“Fine. I’ll stick around, but only because you made me breakfast.”

“Works for me,” Fiddleford agreed. “I oughta try to get some work done. You mind doin’ the dishes?”

“Not at all.”

“Thanks. Try not to touch anything dangerous. Place is a bit of a death trap.”

“Jeez, I won’t.”

“Fine. Guess I’ll see you later, then.”

“Later, nerd. Thanks for the eggs.”


End file.
